


A Ghost of a Chance

by PalacesAndPines



Series: The Nearest Thing to Heaven [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cross-Generation Relationship, F/M, No Remus/Tonks, No Ron/Hermione, No Weasley Bashing, Older Man/Younger Woman, Pining, Post-War, Remus is a bit of a prat, Romance, but he comes around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 17:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18035669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PalacesAndPines/pseuds/PalacesAndPines
Summary: “I don’t understand…” her voice was quiet.“Don’t you? Please, Hermione, I’m only a man, you know. And I’m trying very hard to do the right thing. I beg you, please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”Her head reeled and she stood up from her chair to follow him where he had retreated. “Remus, please. Tell me what you – for Merlin’s sake why won’t you look at me?”“You know why!” His voice was nearly a shout, and as he finally met her gaze, she began to see in his face what he had been trying to hide for months.A sequel to "Turn this Blue Moon Into Gold."





	A Ghost of a Chance

It was early March at the Lupin family cottage on the outskirts of Wizarding London. All remnants of snow had melted around the house, but the frozen ground remained, as did the wintery gray sky that promised little warmth or sun in the days to come. Inside, Remus Lupin sat in his parlor by his small coffee table. Books and newspapers piled up around him, a mug of tea, long stewed and cold, rested between his hands. He pinched the bridge of his nose where his glasses had slipped down. His eyes were heavy and his head ached from nights of little sleep. He had been restless ever since the reconstruction of Hogwarts had finished two weeks before. With no physical or mental labor to exhaust him, he was left to lie awake in the dark, sheets twisted about his limbs from all the times he had tossed and turned within the night. He rose to his feet, tempted to return to his room, if not to sleep then at least to lay and rest his eyes.

There was a knock at the door. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose again before tossing his glasses on the little table with a clack. He made his way to the front entrance.

“Dammit, Bill, I haven’t changed my mind. I swear you’ll drive me—” he stopped as he flung the door open.

“Hello.”

“Hermione –” he blanched. “I thought you were…”

“Bill. Yes, I gathered.” She hadn’t seen him since Christmas. He looked shocked to see her; shocked and terribly tired. She looked down and tried to gather her thoughts. When she looked up again she found his gaze to be strong, his hazel eyes seemingly determined to unnerve her on the spot. “May I come in?”

“Er…” he ran a hand through his hair, and glanced at the cluttered table behind him. “Yes, yes, I suppose you should.” He stepped away from the door so she might enter, only to find himself assaulted by the scent of vanilla as she strode past him. _Sweet Merlin,_ he thought, _have mercy._

“May I sit?”

“Of course.” He considered offering her tea, but thought better of it.

She perched herself in one chair, and he took the other. He watched as she removed her coat and her hat, and her gloves, settling them behind her on the chair. Her eyes and cheeks were bright from the cold, and her hair stuck up a bit where she had removed her hat a little too quickly. He averted his gaze to her small hands folded in her lap.

“Ah, how’s school?”

“It’s going well, thank you. This past year has flown by, it seems I’ve barely been there at all.” She smiled at him. “I had hoped I might see you about, but I never did.” When she had heard he would be leading the reconstruction project of Hogwarts she had been elated. She had dreamed of hallway encounters and smiles and meetings in the library. But she hadn’t seen him once.

“Well, you know, busy and all that.”

“Right.” He seemed determined not to look at her as his eyes flitted about the room. “Well, the castle’s beautiful. Everyone is so grateful for everything you’ve done.”

“Not everyone, surely.”

“Everyone who matters.”

He chanced a glance at her, her eyes fiery and her face serious. “You give me far more credit that I deserve, you know.”

“I suppose we’ll have to agree to disagree on that.”

“I suppose so.”

“Remus, why won’t you come to the Burrow for dinner? It’s Arthur’s birthday, everyone wants you there. Everyone says you’ve been distant since the reconstruction finished.”

He sighed. “So, they’ve sent you, have they?”

“Of course not, I came of my own accord. Remus, please, if it’s because of me, because I’m there, I promise I won’t give you trouble… if it’s because of that night before the war --”

“It’s not.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth.

She continued on as though he had not spoken. “I know, I recognize that you don’t feel the same way. It’s alright, you know, I’m a big girl, I can deal with it. Only, only I couldn’t bear it if I lost your friendship. I’ve missed you. So much.”

She slid her hand across the table over his. He reveled in the feel of it before pulling it away. “I can’t, Hermione.”

“No, you can but you won’t!”

“ _I can’t._ I can’t. it’s too painful.” He stood up and strode to the fireplace, his backed turned. “Please go.”

“I don’t understand…” her voice was quiet.

“Don’t you? Please, Hermione, I’m only a man, you know. And I’m trying very hard to do the right thing. I beg you, please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Her head reeled and she stood up from her chair to follow him where he had retreated. “Remus, please. Tell me what you – for Merlin’s sake why won’t you look at me?”

“You know why!” His voice was nearly a shout, and as he finally met her gaze, she began to see in his face what he had been trying to hide for months.  
There was silence, save for the crackle of the fire, and Hermione’s sharp intake of breath. Her heart felt like it had dropped hundreds of feet, her lungs burned and she struggled momentarily for breath.

“Oh God…” the revelation hit her. “Do you –”

“Don’t.”

“You do. _You do._ ” She nearly chocked on her breath. “All this time, I was convinced you were repulsed, that you were only lonely and needed someone that night. I’ve been kicking myself for that kiss, thinking I ruined what we had. Do you have any idea how I’ve chastised myself for falling for someone who would never want me back? I came out of a war and somehow still managed to feel like I lost! We both came out alive and I thought I somehow still managed to lose you despite that. You’re _alive_ Remus! You’re alive, and—”

“I’m not supposed to be! I… and you were meant to live, to have the best life, to move on, to be with someone worthy of you. Someone young and good. Someone whole.”

She took another step towards him. “I want you!”

He shook his head. “You won’t, always.”

“Do you truly think so little of me? That my affections are so fleeting? I want _you._ I love _you._ I will always love you, regardless of whether you choose to let me, or anyone else in or not.”

“I’m doing this for you.”

“You’re not! You’re doing this for yourself.” She wanted to cry, to sob, to feel the release of tears, but all that emerged was anger, hot and harsh. “You believe so strongly that you don’t deserve happiness or love, but you’re wrong. The world won’t end if you stop being unhappy. You have a life worth living, Remus, with people who love you. God, I love you so much I feel like— I feel like I’m _grieving_ for Merlin’s sake. But I can’t save you. Only you can do that.”

He turned again to face her, only to see her teary eyed, angry and broken, before she summoned her things from his chair and disapparated with a _pop,_ leaving her words and her vanilla scent lingering in the air.

 

Hermione apparated to the living room of Harry and Ron’s flat. Her anger was gone and she felt only exhaustion. She dropped onto the couch in the corner and put her head in her hands. She had granted Remus her anger and a few tears, but she refused to let him see her weep as she now did. Uninhibited and ugly, red and pained, a wound not to be closed. She tasted salt.

“Hermione? Hermione! What happened?”

She wiped her eyes frantically. “Harry – I thought you were out w-with Ron.”

“We finished the shopping early. Hermione- Hey...” he sat down on couch and put and arm around her. “It’s okay ‘Mione.” She gave in and rested her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes and tried to breath. When she opened them, Ron was sitting at her feet. He wore the quizzical, concerned look he often did, as he held out a tissue She let out a breathless laugh and took it. She wiped her eyes and nose but her tears continued to leak.

“I’m sorry Harry – I’m g-getting your jumper all wet.”

“Don’t worry about that.” She saw the boys glance at each other, a shared look of understanding between them.

Ron looked down. “It’s…It’s Remus, isn’t it?” he asked shyly.

She nodded. She bit her trembling lip on an attempt to stop the tears, but she was unsuccessful. Ron summoned another tissue, and Harry gave her side a comforting squeeze. Her friends waited patiently for her tears to subside.

When enough time had passed, when her tear ducts could bear no more, when the dried salt left her face feeling dried and chapped, when she could take a full breath, she looked between the two of them.

“How long have you known, then?”

Harry spoke first, “PotterWatch, I guess.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “ _That long?_ ”

“You should’ve seen your face when his voice came on, ‘Mione. I thought you might have stopped breathing,” said Ron, softly shaking his head.

Indeed, she remembered the moment well. Her heart had sunk in her chest when she heard his voice. She couldn’t help but picture his shy smile and his glasses that rested just slightly crooked on his nose. She had been homesick for the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, and the faded pink scar on his jawline. She had felt that scar once, her hand had cupped it once in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place, at three in the morning with his hands wandering down her back and his mouth against her own. Perhaps the boys were more observant than she gave them credit for. Then again, she supposed she could be rather transparent.

“We thought maybe it was just a crush, you know, like Lockhart, maybe.” Ron made a face and she smiled.

“Yeah, but Ginny mentioned your meetings at Grimmauld Place after the war. She said that sometimes she’d wake up and you’d be gone. She went downstairs once to look for you and she saw you. Together. She said there was no mistaking your feelings—the both of you.”

Hermione covered her face. “Oh God, everybody knows.”

“Nah, ‘Mione, its only us. We haven’t told anyone.” Harry took her hand. “Ron almost blew his top when Ginny told us though. He was gonna run and do something about it but Ginny threatened him with some rather colorful hexes.” Hermione let out a small laugh.

“I just thought—didn’t want him taking advantage, you know. He’s older, and—”

“It’s okay, Ron, I understand. But he wouldn’t. He won’t – It hardly matters now, does it?”

She started slowly. She had no way of knowing what Ginny had seen, and what she reported. She started at the beginning. She told them about the sleepless nights in the little kitchen, and the conversations and the smiles and the kindnesses. She told them how she fell in love with him; _how she was in the middle before she knew she had begun._ She used those words, and thought of all the muggle literature references she and Remus used to drop into their conversations, like hidden treasures for the other to find, buried lightly in the sand. A seashell, an old chain, a weathered bit of sea glass. A piece of one’s heart.

She told them about their kiss, and the exchange that followed. They had not spoken again before war broke out. There was only the searing glance at the wedding before Remus yelled Go and the three had apparated to muggle London. She told them how he had fled her presence after the war, how she searched for him in the halls of Hogwarts and found no trace of him. She told them how she thought he hated her, was disgusted by her, and how the truth was so much worse.

“He didn’t expect to live, you see. I don’t think he knows how to be happy.”

“Well, he’s being a right prat if you ask me.”

“Ron!” Harry’s mouth twitched as he tried not to smile.

“It’s true! He’s got a chance at happiness! Not everyone gets that coming out of a war. Some people don’t come out at all.” There was no doubt in Hermione’s mind that Ron was thinking of Percy, lying in the great hall, his mother sobbing over his body, while his father had gone to close the blue eyes of his third born son.

“He doesn’t think he’s good enough for her. He’s trying to do the right thing. You know how he is, mate.”

“Well he’s _not_ good enough for her if you ask me, but still. I want to see you happy, Hermione. We both do.”

Hermione looked at the two men she had come to view as her brothers. She reached for each of their hands, and squeezed lightly. The sun was beginning to set and light poured into the little parlor, painting everything golden. Light bounced off Harry’s glasses, and made Ron’s hair a fiery spectacle. The three sat there in silence with small smiles between them. When the clock struck five, Hermione roused herself from the couch, rubbed her eyes, and went to wash her face before heading to the Burrow. Harry pulled Ron aside.

“We have to fix this. It’s not right, them both being miserable like this.”

Ron let out a small breath. “Yeah, s’pose you’re right. I still don’t like it, mind, but she wants him more than anything so…”

“I say we go tomorrow morning.”

“Right. Yeah, okay.”

“Ginny will want to come too.”

“Fine, we’ll pull her aside tonight.”

The three friends left for the Burrow together and flitted about in the company of the rest of the Weasleys and Order members. Harry and Ron went about their scheming with Ginny, who seemed eager to either deliver a rallying speech on the importance love, or deliver a whopping series of curses on the man in question.  
Hermione, for her part, could only think of her visit to the Lupin Cottage, and how it seemed as though lifetimes had passed since she had visited that afternoon. Lifetimes and lifetimes and all of them without him. She pictured him alone at his own kitchen table away from the people who loved him. Away from Molly and Arthur, the former of whom wiped frosting from her husband’s lip. From Harry and Ron and Ginny, murmuring in the corner. From Bill and Fleur who passed little Victoire back and forth. From herself, who wished he would accept the life he had been granted, and the happiness she offered.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Professor McGonagall behind her.

“Miss Granger, dear, are you quite well? You look rather peakish.”

“I’m fine Professor. Only a little tired.”

McGonagall looked as though she wanted to say more, to probe the surface, but gave Hermione a small smile, instead. “Well, take care of yourself, dear. I’ll see you back to finish up term.”

Hermione watched her turn to go and bid her farewells to the Weasley clan. The night was still young, and Hermione watched the night continue in a daze; Fred and George showed Ginny their newest product, Harry talked to Andromeda, Ron went back to the kitchen for seconds, Kingsley stood next to his sister who was being introduced to Tonks whose hair matched the rising color in her face as the young women reached to shake her hand. Fleur who dozed on her husband’s shoulder, their daughter in his lap.

In a few hours’ time, she and Harry and Ron would leave and head to bed. She would hug them each tightly before going up to the room they had set aside for her. She would close her eyes and try to sleep. Her eyes would burn, but no tears would come. She would curse herself for being foolish and weak and selfish, so much so that she would exhaust herself, finally able to sleep as the sun rose high and peaked through her windows. She would not hear Ginny arrive, nor would she hear her friends whispering while eating breakfast; the clink of their mugs would not rouse her, nor would the rustling of bags as her friends reached for bread and granola. She would not hear them leave the flat together, with a soft _pop_ as they apparated across town.

 

At ten in the morning there was a knock at the door. Remus sat at his little table with a cup of coffee, a letter sat in front of him, the red seal broken to expose a neat and slanted cursive. He had been staring at the letter for some time, and the sound of knuckles hitting his wooden door startled him. He set down his cup of coffee and groaned.

_Perhaps they would go away._

A more insistent knock followed the first.

_Perhaps not._

He considered retreating to his room at the other end of the house but the knocking continued.

“Remus, open the door. We know you’re in there…”

_Damn._

He strode over to the door and flung it open. Harry Potter was at his doorstep mid-knock, situated between the two youngest Weasleys.

“Hello, Harry. Ron, Ginny.” He didn’t meet their eyes. “I was just on the way out… perhaps we could catch up a bit later – ”

“Oh Bollocks!” Ginny Weasley crossed her arms in a manner that uncannily reminded him of Lily Evans.

Harry stepped forward. “Please, Remus. It’s important.”

He sighed. “Right. You better come in I suppose.” He moved aside and the three trudged into the sitting room. Each on a mission he was sure would soon reveal itself. He gestured to the chairs, and the sofa.

Harry pushed his glassed up his nose. “You know why we’re here.”

“Ah, no. I’m afraid I don’t.” He waited for them to explain but there was only silence. Ron and Harry looked at each other, each seemingly trying to eke out of the other the words they themselves had lost. Ginny hopped up from her chair.

“Right, well I suppose I’ll start then. You broke our friend’s heart. We’re here to help you remedy that situation.”

Remus nearly choked. “H-how did you, that is—what – ”

“We’ve known—well suspected for a while now. We’re not cross, at least not in the way you think.” Harry went on to tell about him about hearing PotterWatch during the war, and explained how Ginny told them what she had seen. Remus listened as Harry recounted the details of the previous evening, how the girl he loved had cried and confided in her friends after keeping the secret to herself for so long. He pictured her on Harry and Ron’s couch, all tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes. He hated himself for the image he had caused.

“Oh Merlin.” He felt a lump begin to form in his throat. “I never should have admitted the way I felt. I should have let her believe it was one-sided.” He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, and watches the shapes dance in the darkness behind his eyelids. He pressed harder. “I just—I couldn’t, I didn’t want to hurt her. Dear Merlin that’s the last thing I’ve ever wanted.”

“Well it’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?” He opened his eyes to see a very angry Ron Weasley. “Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t too happy about all this when Ginny told us. I still don’t love it. But Hermione, she’s our best mate. She deserves to be happy.”

Ginny settled herself on the arm of the chair where her brother sat. “You deserve to be happy too, Remus.”

Remus chanced a look at the young women to see a guilty look on her face. Her fiery demeanor had softened and her eyes conveyed a sympathy he tried to hate her for, but could not.

“Listen, mate, Ginny’s right. What’s the point of denying yourself happiness, if you both want to be with each other. If you both love each other.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“You _do_ love her, don’t you?” Ron asked.

“Yes.” The word was out of his mouth before he could think better of it. “Yes. I love her.” It was the first time he had ever said the words out loud and the confession made him feel breathless and tired. He leaned back against the wall behind him. “Don’t you see? I am too old for her. Too broken. I couldn’t possibly condemn her to a such a life. There are many people who would not be kind.”

“The people who matter wouldn’t _give_ a shit,” said Ginny, “at least not after getting used to the idea.”

“Remus, you’re alive. You have a long life ahead of you. Your friends – my parents, they would want to see you live it.”

“Please don’t, Harry.” He saw anger flash in the green eyes in front of him.

“Why not? You have a life worth living, and you’re running away from it. You have people who love you. Are you so terrified of being happy? Of letting go of your guilt and your shame?”

“Harry –” Ginny reached out and put a hand on his arm.

“No Gin, he needs to hear it. My parents are gone. Sirius is gone. Ron’s brother is gone. Dumbledore and Mad eye and even Snape are all dead. We lost so many people. But you’re here, and you’re _alive._ Don’t think for a second that my parents wouldn’t be telling you what I’m telling you now. Don’t spend your life holed up and miserable. You’ve found love, _seize it._ Yeah, you’re a werewolf. You’ll be a werewolf for the rest of your damn life, but that’s no bloody excuse to hide away. Things are changing. You ought to be around to see them change. You’ve helped me when I’ve needed it, Remus, but you need our help now. You need us to tell you that you’re wrong. Because you are, and you’re going to see that someday. I just hope its sooner rather than later, for your sake and for Hermione’s.”

There was silence, and then Harry stood up. “I think we’ve said what we came to.” Harry stared at Remus, a look of severity on his face. He gave a curt nod in Remus’ direction and headed for the door, Ron and Ginny following suite.

Remus stayed where he was, leaning against the wall as if stuck in amber, unable to move. He heard the click of the door as it closed, as he slid down the wall and put his face in his hands. He sat on the floor for some time. Thinking about James’ son, and the cup of coffee on his kitchen table that was getting cold, and McGonagall’s letter next to it. The fireplace was warm on his right side he remembered how the last time he had been so close to the flames and heard their crackle had been the previous afternoon when the women he loved had stood before him all sadness and rage.

_I can’t save you, only you can do that._

He rose to his feet and walked to the desk in the corner of the room. He sat down and pulled out a quill and began to write.

 

Some hours later, he walked up a stone path, wrapping his coat more tightly around him. The moon shown out onto the waves, illuminating the rough water. He arrived at a small Cottage door and knocked twice.

The door opened. Fleur Delacour, lovely as ever, adjusted her child on her hip with one hand as she pulled open the door with the other. Her features were initially cross, for the new mother was no doubt annoyed at having visitors so late in the evening. However, when the light from inside the little cottage allowed her to make out the face of the man at the door, she lit up.

“Remus!”

“Hello, Fleur.”

“Bill, come see who’s here!” She moved aside, and beckoned him in.

“Remus, goodness, are you all right?” Bill shook his friend’s hand in greeting.

Remus ran his hand through his hair. “I ah—I think, that is I’m not sure. I just—I just need to talk.” He watched the couple exchange a glance of concern.  
Victoire stirred against her mother’s hip. “I must put her down to bed, but I’ll put the kettle on after I do.”

Bill kissed his wife’s forehead. “No need, love. I’ve got it, go rest a bit.”

Fleur repositioned her daughter in her arms before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Remus’ cheek. “We are so glad you are here,” she said, and with that she was gone up the stairs, leaving the two friends to find their way to the kitchen.

Bill put a boiling spell on the kettle and took a seat. “We missed you last night.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I should have been there.” Remus sighed He considered Bill to be his closest friend and yet, the man knew nothing of his current predicament.

“What brings you here? I mean, you’re always welcome, you know that, but you’ve been distant for weeks.”

“I don’t really know where to begin.”

Bill looked at the clock. “Start where you like. I don’t have to be at work for ten hours, yet.”

Remus started at the beginning, at Grimmauld Place, in the summer before his friend’s wedding when the night air was cool enough for hot chocolate, when he found Hermione Granger downstairs one night, rummaging around for a clean mug. From there he did not stop. The words poured out of him; the conversations, the music, the dance, the kiss. He found himself recalling the minutest details; her wild hair escaping its tie as he whirled her around the kitchen, the night they debated their preferences of poetry and prose, the way she bit her lip when worried. He continued on; the war, peace, keeping busy to keep from going mad, her anger, her tears, her words, Harry and Ron and Ginny.

When he was finished, he realized the kettle must have gone off, for there was a mug of tea between his hands. He stared at the steam still rising from the blue mug, afraid to meet Bill’s eyes.

“Merlin, Remus, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was in denial for so long and then – god, all could think about is what you would think of me.”

“I think you’ve made some mistakes, but I doubt they’re the ones you think.” He paused. “Harry’s right you know. He may have been harsh but… there’s no point in living the way you have.”

He looked up. “She’s so young.”

Bill sighed. “I suppose so, but she’s never acted her age, has she? I don’t think most of us imagined her with a bloke her own age. Besides, it’s not like age gaps are uncommon, in the muggle world maybe, but we live longer, Remus, you know how it is. There’s seven years between me and Fleur.”

“Seven years is common, even ten, but not nearly twenty. And her parents --”

“Let’s get to that later, yeah? One thing at time.” Bill fiddled with the earring in his left ear before leaning forward, elbows on the table. “Look, if her friends could get over the age gap then I don’t see why you can’t. I can’t believe Ron took it as well as he did to be honest. It’s a testament to their love for her. And you.”

Remus removed his glasses and ran a hand over his face. Without the shadow and glare of his glasses, the circles under his eyes became clear; evidence of the sleepless nights he had suffered of late. “My condition, it—I would hate to see her suffer because of it.”

“Hermione knows that the people who matter don’t care. Besides, coming out of the war, I can’t see how things won’t change. Views are changing, Remus. We just fought a war for the tolerance of others. That includes both you and her, doesn’t it?”

“It’s different Bill, you know that.”

“Is it though? Because as I recall, it was muggle-borns who were losing their wands. Look – you’ve suffered more than most, Remus -- I realize that, and I sympathize with that, but you can’t brush off the fact that she’s been an outsider in this world too.”

Remus swallowed thickly. “What if – What if she grew to resent me…”

“You’re not giving her enough credit there, you know that.”

There was silence, and Remus stared at Bill across the table. He admired his friend’s confidence and his ease, and his compassion too. He brought the mug to his lips. He had left the tea bag in too long, and the bitter taste lingered on his tongue.

“You think I should be with her.”

“Yes.”

He had not known what to expect from Bill Weasley, but such an easily delivered affirmative answer was far from his mind when he had knocked on the door of Shell Cottage nearly two hours before. “What do I do, how could I possibly fix –”

“Talk to her. Write to her, anything.”

He looked down at his hands. “She told me, the last thing she said was she couldn’t save me.”

“She’s right.”

Remus thought of the letter he had written earlier that day, still sitting on his desk at home. He wondered what Hermione would say to contents inside. “I’ve had a letter from Minerva.”

Bill raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“She’s offered me a position. Defense Against the Dark Arts, again.”

“Remus, that’s incredible!”

“I was going to turn it down.”

“Remus –” in a flash, Remus caught a glimpse of the anger and he had seen in Ginny Weasley’s features that very afternoon in his flat. It made the corner of his mouth turn up slightly to see such fire in eldest Weasley, despite his usual cool and calm demeanor, and his current role of friend and confidant.

“I didn’t, but I almost did. After Harry and the others… Hermione was right. She can’t save me. Even if I’m with her, it’s wouldn’t be enough. I have to really live. Not just for her, for myself too.”

“You’ll accept?”

“Yes, I will.”

Bill relaxed back into his chair. “Good, that’s good. I might’ve had to smack you about the head otherwise.”

Remus slid his glasses back up his nose and smiled. “You’re a good friend, Bill.”

“Well, seems like Harry, Ron and Gin did all the heavy lifting. Didn’t have to rip you apart much since they already did. I’ll have to thank them for that.”

Remus sipped his tea again. He relished the strong taste, the warmth, the feeling of it as he swallowed and felt it slide down his throat. He felt a weight leave him, as though he had been taking shallow breathes for ages, and had just taken his first deep breath in a long while. He felt his eyes burn, and in blinking he found tears rise to the surface. It had been so long since he had felt anything of the sort, that he only realized he was crying when he felt a droplet splash on his folded hands resting of the table.

He blinked twice, “Ah, fuck…”

Bill gave him a kind smile but said nothing. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocked and handed it to the man sitting across from him. He summoned the kettle and refilled each of their mugs before returning it to the stove. They sat with easy silence between them, listening only to the crashing waves down on the beach, and the wind chimes tinkling outside the house in the wind.

When the kettle was empty and their eyelids were heavy, they parted at the cottage door with a handshake. Bill climbed the stairs and settled in beside his wife, and Remus, raw and tired, with heavy limbs returned to his flat on the other side of town. Despite the lateness of the hour, he did not return to his room for fear of losing his nerve. Instead, he settled at the desk in his living room for the second time that day, and pulled out a quill and fresh piece of parchment. This letter would be nothing like the one that lay by his hand, sealed and ready to mail from earlier in the day, for it was not to Minerva McGonagall, and it had nothing to do with the means of future employment. When he had finished, he folded the paper into an envelope with great care and sealed it with red wax. He opened his front door and placed it with the letter to McGonagall, and dropped it into his mailbox to be picked up by the owls in the morning.

The first strands of light were coming through the clouds, and there was a cold dew on the grass, where the snow no longer lay. There was a fog that rolled low on the ground, but the bare branches of the trees around his home he could see with great clarity. He watched his breath come out in a series of warm puffs into the brisk morning air before turning around and going back inside, his business complete.

He crawled into bed, still dressed and wrapped the sheets tightly around himself. Exhausted, fell asleep in minutes. He dreamed of Hermione Granger in his home. She was in his living room, but this time she not sad, or angry. She was smiling at him from his little couch in front of the fire place. He was saying something as he pulled a volume of poetry from the shelf and rifled through it. She was in his kitchen next, looking anxious as she cooked something in a pan on the stove. He was chopping vegetables in the corner and he turned around as she yelped to see a very black piece of meat, smoking. He moved her aside and turned off the heat. Her look of bewilderment turned cross when he began to laugh. He pulled her to him, pressed a kiss to her forehead and examined the disaster again. He watched as she pressed her face to his chest, trying to hide her amusement

Still he dreamed. She was in his shower. He could see nothing, but paused outside the door, to hear her sing a tune he didn’t recognize. She was in his garden planting, and in his basement diligently stirring a potion with one hand as she read from a book in the other. She was in his bed, hair a mess on his pillows and her limbs tangled with his.  
He slept on.

 

Hermione awoke late on the second Wednesday of her Spring holidays. She rarely awoke after 9:00, but her recent sadness had fatigued her, and her friends seemed to understand she needed rest. She could hear them downstairs; Ginny and Ron arguing Quidditch and Harry laughing. She opened the door of her room, content to finally join them. She stepped out and found a letter at her feet. She picked it up and ran her fingers over the red seal and the clear, printed writing on the outside. Her heart stopped. She retreated back into her room and sat down on her bed. She tore the seal, and unfolded the letter in her hands. It trembled, just a little. She read its contents, and then read it again. The words spilled out and overwhelmed her. She murmured the last words to herself as she set the letter down. She checked the words again to be sure of the promise they held. Ink had never seemed so beautiful.

 

 _My Dearest Hermione,_  
I must begin by saying that I have been a fool and a coward. Were it only those two offenses, I might feel I had better standing, but I have been cruel too, and that is so much harder to forgive, regardless of one’s good intentions. I hope you know that my intentions were always just that, good. I cannot believe I deserve you and I truly believed I was doing the right and honorable thing in pushing you away. But, when one has been told they are wrong by three Weasleys and Harry Potter himself, one is rather inclined to believe it.  
I love you. I am sure you know, for the implication hung in the air that afternoon at my flat, but I feel I must tell you all the same. I have loved you for some time, since before that dance in the kitchen and the kiss that followed. Somewhere along all those nights of chocolate and conversation I realized that you were all I wanted, and all I should never have. But, I am trying my best to escape the thought patterns that have engulfed me for so long. You were right, (as you so often are,) you can’t save me; that job must fall to me alone, which is why I promise you this: even if you cannot forgive me my follies, and you choose to go forth without me by your side, I promise to live a life you would be proud of anyway. I have been carrying my guilt and my shame on my back for so long, trying to outrun any creeping chance of happiness. Well, my dear, it seems I am finally out of breath. I cannot promise that I will not struggle. But I do promise to try.  
I suppose I ought to tell you that I have been offered the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for next year, for I hear that Professor Savage has recovered sufficiently from the injuries he acquired and wishes to return to the Auror Department. I admit I had intended to turn down the offer, but since being scolded viciously, I have decided to accept. A good start, is it not?  
It is true that I did not expect to come out of this war, but I am beginning to be glad I did. In living I get to see James’ son alive and well and in love. I get to see the friends I have made have families. I get to see you, (whether you are mine or not,) brilliant and beautiful and thriving in a peaceful world of promise.  
On the back of this letter you will find the address of a small restaurant outside muggle London. It is located next to the bookstore I worked at shortly after graduating Hogwarts. I will be there, at a table for two at 7:00, Saturday next. I hope my intentions are clear. I will not blame you should you not come, but I do so hope that you do.  
Hope. How strange to feel such a thing, to cling to it.  
Yours, Always,  
Remus J. Lupin

Hermione dressed herself with trembling hands. She washed her face and wiped the sleep from her eyes. She went downstairs, the letter in her back pocket.  
Ginny Weasley shot up from the couch, “Hermione! I was just about to get more breakfast, join me in the kitchen.” She grabbed Hermione’s hand pulled her to the kitchen, ignoring the boys’ confused glances. She cast muffilatto. “You got a letter. I put it by your door.”

“Oh… Thank you. I got it.”

“Is it…?”

“…Yes.”

“I fucking _knew_ it! Hey, listen, I won’t pry anymore, but I didn’t know if you wanted to tell the boys just yet.”

Hermione gave a shy smile. “Thanks Ginny. I think perhaps I’ll wait until after Saturday. Just in case… in case he doesn’t show.”

“Saturday! Oh, he’ll show. Until then your secret’s safe with me.” Ginny grabbed the bread from the counter. “Hey, grab the jam, will you?” Hermione went to the cupboard and pulled it down. She turned around to see Ginny stuff a piece of bread in her mouth and swallow it down. “By the way, you should wear that jumper you got for Christmas. You know, the blue one with the V- neck.” Ginny shrugged “Just a piece of advice, take it or leave it.” Hermione watched Ginny turn on her heel to join the boys back in the living room. Her red pony tail swished as she glanced behind her to remove the silencing spell from the kitchen, before giving what Hermione believed to be the quickest of winks in her direction.

 

The blue sweater was taken down on Saturday evening at 5:30, and left on Hermione’s bed while she showered and dried her hair. She picked out a pair of dark jeans she felt were acceptable and dressed quickly. She sat on her bed re-reading the letter she had kept on her bedside table. She paced her room, and put on a little lipstick before decidedly wiping it off. She stood in front of the mirror and imagined what she would say when she found him at the restaurant. If she found him.  
She felt sick. In an effort to calm her nerves, she tried to read, but found herself unable to get beyond a single paragraph. She paced again, and checked the clock. She put her hair up, and then let it down again, she lay on her bed with her eyes closed and tried to slow her heart rate through a series of deep breaths. She cracked one eye open. _6:58. Thank Merlin._

She hopped up, grabbed the letter and checked the address on the back before apparating.

The restaurant was situated on a quaint dirt path. It was indeed close to muggle London, for Hermione could hear the whirls of sirens, and honking of horns just before she flew past the silencing barrier. It was attached to the bookstore, as Remus had described, and warm light pooled out onto the street beckoning in anyone who might happen to pass by. There were candles floating above the window boxes, which Hermione imagined must hold flowers during the warmer parts of the year. She peered through the window.

And there he was.

He sat at a table for two fiddling with his hands. She saw him check his watch. A plump older woman came by and put her hand on his shoulder. She said something to him which made him smile and shake his head. They seemed to know each other, and Hermione wondered if she was the owner of the little establishment. She neared the doorway, and saw there were flowers on the table by the chair across from him, and a bottle of wine, unopened. She pushed open the door and walked inside, the floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she made her way to the older women who was now at the front.

The woman smiled. “Hello, Dear. Table for how many?”

“I—uh, I’m meeting someone.” Hermione heard the loud noise of a chair being pushed back too fast and with too much force. She looked up to see Remus Lupin standing, his glasses crooked and his eyes wide. The place was far too small for such a noise to go unnoticed, and diners looked up from their plates. Remus paid not attention, his gaze had not left hers since he had seen her enter. A smile played on her lips.

“Oh, I see…” the women glanced between the two, a kind twinkle in the corner of her eye. “Right this way.”

It was a mere seven steps to the table, and by the time she got there, her chair was being pulled out for her. He wore his usual trousers and white button down shirt. Her shoulder brushed his sleeve as she sat down. The last time she had been so close to him, he had had her pressed against a counter with his fingers in her hair and his mouth against hers. She recalled the way his cheek, roughened by stubble, had felt against hers and the way his shirt had felt as she had gripped the front of it. She remembered it, and she relished it.

She would remember and relish this first night too. The wine they would share, the way he dabbed his napkin pristinely at the corner of his mouth, the way his glasses slid down his nose as he read the menu. She would recall how their conversation would start slow and shy, each circling around the events of the previous days and months, before he would take her hand from across the table and tell her he was sorry, all while looking into her eyes with an intensity that made her cheeks burn with color. They would share dessert, and she would not remember the name, but she would remember the taste; chocolate and decadent and smooth on her tongue. She would ask him about the book shop next door, and he would tell her how he had spent his days there, reading far too much and re-shelving far too little. He would make her laugh, and she would watch the way his nervousness receded when he heard it. They would be the last to leave the restaurant, and in the brisk night air he would lift her chin ever-so-slightly and kiss her, by the candles floating in the window boxes, as the servers went about wiping down tables and dimming the lights inside. She would remember the way he pulled away too soon, shy and unsure, and the way she would pull his mouth back to her own, just so she could taste the chocolate and wine that still lingered on his lips.

Hermione Granger would remember all of these things, but at that moment, at 7:05, outside muggle London she was busy about to live them

Remus sat down across from her and let out a breath. “Hello.”

She smiled, and tucked a wild piece of hair behind her ear. “Hello.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
